I Hate

I despise this
I hate to feel pain of emotion
That has nothing to do
with my existence now
I choke on it
And I hate you for reminding me

I hate it
I see no choice
I must acknowledge it
I cannot pretend
though I wish
Nothing happened

I hate
And the taste
invades my mouth
And tears out my throat
It is hard and cold
And reminds me of steel
It infects me and destroys my heart

I detest it
I hate to feel helpless
To feel small and vulnerable
To feel hunted
and pinned to the board
A ghost of the butterfly
That I once was
I hate you for pinning me here

The hatred burns holes in my soul
Tears through my being
And devours my senses
It ravages me
Leaves me wasted
And weary
And I hate that too

I hate you
And the repulsion of that
Drives me mad
I hate you
Nausea washes over me
And contorts my soul
I hate you
for being the predator
Even though I know
It’s only your nature
And I hate that

I hate
And I watch in despair
As it turns into rage
Watch as it destroys me
From the inside
I hate and I want to give it back
I want you to have this pain
That you gave me so blithely
Without thought
And wantonly remind me of
By your very existence

I hate it
I hate what you represent to me
And what you are
I hate what you remind me of
And what you insist you deserve
I want to hate you
But what I so boisterously declare
Is empty

I go looking for that rage
For the righteous hatred
For the anger and the understanding
That I might get from it
I only find the shadow
Of my ghost
It slips from me
And leaves me empty
And yet I feel the coldness
The lingering taint of its touch
As though the hand of death
stroked my throat once more

and I hate
I detest
I protest
I cry in silence
And crumple
I long to feel
it hurts too bad
I shut the door
It locked me in
I slip on through
Ghost of my past

and I rage
I cry
I deny
I shout inside
And cringe
I wish to forget
it cuts too deep
I race away
It trips me up
I dissipate in dust
Ghost of my past

I hate you
I hate your part
in creating my ghost
I hate that I am a ghost
I hate that dead things
Can’t stay dead
And buried things
Climb out of their graves

I hate this contact with emotion
However brief
That pours though me like acid
Then leaves me behind
Confused and trying to express it
In the bitter after math
of its assault

© Moonfyre 2004